Scars
by sharkinterviewee
Summary: Peter had confessed that the first time he saw her he thought they were birth marks. The silver markings on her face looked enough like something that might have been supposed to be on an alien species that they didn't seem out of place on her emerald skin. Didn't draw much attention or look too much like malformations. The rest of her scars were not nearly so cut and dry.


**AN: The M rating is mostly just for show/just in case, contains a mild sexual situation. I'm not sure if it's necessary, but I thought I'd put a possible trigger warning because the stuff about Gamora's scars in here does get kinda intense, though not detailed. More of heavy in the emotional reflection sort of way.**

 **Also, I still haven't seen Infinity War yet, so all the stuff about Gamora's past are based on niche headcannons derived from GOTG Vol 1 and 2, so no spoilers here. (I'm still avoiding them myself, so don't worry if you're behind like me)**

* * *

The scars on her face were readily apparent to all who looked at her. But even they had a certain… aesthetic. Peter had confessed that the first time he saw her he thought they were birth marks. The silver markings on her face looked enough like something that might have been _supposed_ to be on a species skin to not seem too out of place on the face of the green skinned alien. The ones on her face weren't very distracting or even attention drawing- they didn't look too much like a malformation, didn't look too deformed. They were simple, minimalistic.

The rest of her scars were not nearly so cut and dry.

The ones that found home on the rest of her body, where enemies usually aimed their swords, guns, all their hopefully fatal blows- they were not so simple.

The silver scars on her face were simple marks. The rest of her body- her flesh was _mutilated_. Burned, scorched, scabbed, calloused, patches of mottled skin, fissures in her very being, scar tissue built up from all the damage.

She had grown accustomed to everyone seeing the simple scars on her face. All the intensive damage from injuries that pressed themselves into her permanent collection- scars that were layered over each other, different 'healing' appearances from different weapons, thick scar tissue from blasters, burns from chemical attacks, thin shallow slices from torture, and so much more-

These were the scars she did not let most people see. She didn't like these scars being looked at. Even by herself.

She _hated_ these scars being looked at by herself.

* * *

The first time they were… intimate, he didn't pay them any attention. None at all. Didn't trace them so softly like the ones he often did on her face, the soft touches of the silver markings that made her heart flutter every time he did so. He didn't pay any attention to the scars on the rest of her, almost like he didn't notice them. Peter always so tenderly caressed the silver scars on her face, so gentle and loving.

When they were first intimate, he didn't treat the scars on the rest of her body like he treated the scars on her face. And that made her feel… safe.

He always knew exactly what to give her, just what she needed. Or maybe he didn't know, and he just did it naturally because he was made perfect just for her or something.

He just gave her what she needed.

* * *

But one evening, after they've been together for awhile, they were getting physically intimate, and Peter did something different. All the times they've had sex before, he never paid any attention to the scars on her body, like he couldn't even see them. Like they weren't even there.

That night, though, was different.

After shedding Gamora of her sleep shirt he had immediate access to her chest, and made his presence known (by making her moan). She tangled her fingers in his hair, encouraging him to nip harder, soft kisses and nibbles didn't really do much for her breasts. He got the message though, tugging a nipple between his teeth before moving on to press sloppy open mouth kisses littered with harsh nips to the underside of her breasts, making her breath hitch with every one.

He trailed his lips downward, decorating her rib cage with hickeys, and Gamora hummed in satisfaction, her eyes slipping shut and letting herself just feel.

* * *

When she noticed that his lips had grown gentle on her skin, placing kisses in what felt like purposeful places scattered across her body, she opened her eyes and looked down. Only to see him kissing her most disfiguring scars with an unmatched reverence as he looked back up at her.

These were not righteously earned scars. She's gained a couple of those since joining the guardians. Those are scars she can be proud of. She _is_ proud of those scars. The ones earned in battle with her teammates.

The ones that Peter is kissing so reverently right now are decidedly not those. They are scars that she is ashamed of, ones that she wants to hide away.

Scars from back stabbing, from unsuspecting victims who didn't stand a chance, from retribution for another life she already took, not just stealth assassinations, but violent massacres. She was a slaughterer. Whole families, multiple generations have died at her hand, wiping out villages amidst blood and flame. There was a reason so many wanted her dead. She didn't just kill a few people, and it wasn't just people who deserved it.

Her casualties were far reaching, so many had died at her hand, and so many of them were much better people than she could ever be.

When she was younger she could pretend that the people must have done something bad to get mixed up with Thanos. But that disillusionment wore quickly. Most of the people she killed had nothing to do with the Mad Titan. Many had probably never heard his name, and did nothing to deserve the havoc brought down against them by her hands. Many of them were normal people.

People who had nothing to do with the Titan other than they were in the way of him accomplishing his goals, were a minor inconvenience, or jobs that had passed through many hands, jobs that always had something to be gained, even something as small as a favor. Murders that were just practice on the nearest planet, ones that happened because he was _bored._

Gamora killed so many that had better hopes for a well lived life than she.

She couldn't even stand looking at these scars herself. She _hated_ looking at those scars.

* * *

He was taking special care, reverentially caressing all the damage on her skin, head to toe. Worshiping her. Kissing even her most disfiguring scars, as he looked up and made eye contact as he kissed the ugliest parts of her- the parts that showed how ugly her _soul_ was. Before she met him. Most of her life. Showed how she killed. All the suffering she's inflicted. All the pain she's caused. All the evil she's done. Who she was.

And he's reverential.

And she hated it.

She wanted to tell him to stop. She hated it. She hated him for doing it. She hated that he was doing it. She hated everything about it. She hated it. And she loved it. She wanted to tell him to never stop. She loved it. She hated it. She hated him for doing it. She wanted to beg him to never stop touching her like this. To never stop looking at her like that. She hated that he was being so gentle and loving, paying tribute to all the sins she wears on her skin. How he was kissing so sweetly the things that marked all the horrible, awful things she's done. Every act. What marks all the people she's killed- all the atrocities she's committed. The scars mark all the evil she's ever done in her life.

And he was just… being so careful, so soft, with the most meaningful look in his eye. And he… He knew what they meant. He knew what all those scars came from. Why she had them. What led to them. Everything she did that led to them being there right now, carved into her flesh. All the scars she has that others gave her- for revenge, or worse- self defense. The ones that aligned with her current sense of morality, and the ones that didn't hold the test of time and freedom. The ones that bothered her not from guilt, but because the choice was taken out of them. The ones from torture. The ones she deserved, and earned, and the ones she didn't. The ones from memories she hated.

And he… he knew all of this. He knew what it meant when he kissed all these scars too. He knew the weight of his actions. He knew exactly what he was doing. And she hated him for doing this to her. And she wanted to beg him to never stop touching her like this, treating her like this, kissing her like this. She wanted to beg him to never stop looking at her like this.

Peter brings his lips back to her skin, and she threads her hand through his hair, letting her eyes slip shut as he continues kissing her scars like they're something sacred.

Something important.


End file.
